


Bulletproof

by Mykael



Series: Lost In The Echo [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batwoman (Comic)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Revenge, Secret Organizations, Survival Training, Training, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mykael/pseuds/Mykael
Summary: Jason endured. For three, long, agonizing months, he endured. Try as they might, Grave and their twisted scientistscould not break him.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson
Series: Lost In The Echo [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1211799
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started something for what I was expecting to be the next part in the series, but then I took time to consider some things, and decided to do this next instead. Enjoy the story, it's going to get good (I hope), There's also a couple of references in here. Kudos to anyone who gets them. :D
> 
> Hint: a video game, and a popular anime.

Jason endured. For three, long, agonizing months, he endured. Try as they might, Grave and their twisted scientists  _ could not break him. _ And they put him through a lot; various kinds of torture, both mental and physical. They tried emotional manipulation, mind tricks of all kinds, pain even. But nothing they did, worked. But the worst of it, was the experiments; he’d overheard the scientists talking either while he was in the lab, or from his cell.

It was curious they were keeping him in a cell, located in some kind of lab only God knew where, until he heard the scientists talking. He was slated to be one of the first in a new line of “Reapers”. He and several other unfortunate victims, and they were spoken of as if they were little more than objects; as if they were less than human.

The goal seemed to be to replicate Deathstroke’s abilities in their Reaper enforcers, but they had been unsuccessful thus far. Though that depends on how one measures success. Deathstroke had possessed a dormant metagene, but these scientists were tinkering with peoples’ genetic codes. Jason had the unfortunate displeasure to watch them “dispose” of the failures; innocent people, dead, and discarded as “failed experiments”.

They had been successful to an extent on Jason and his fellow prisoners, however; they noted an increase in regeneration, a mild increase in all forms of sensory perception, brain activity, and endurance. But the experiments were deemed “a failure”, because despite Jason and the other prisoner’s increased abilities, they were still not on par with Deathstroke’s. But Jason had overheard the scientists proclaiming a greater degree of success with Jason; apparently, he too possessed a metagene. 

Their experiments in manipulating the subjects’ genes to grant increased abilities to a person, despite the lack of a metagene, had triggered Jason’s and altered it. Or so that was the prevailing theory. That news had Jason sick to his stomach however, because he knew when these “scientists” got excited about something, the experiments only grew darker.

Today, however, was another attempt at breaking him. They had him strapped to a propped up table, with his arms and legs spread out and strapped down so he couldn’t move. He’d already been through an hour of torment at the hands of these psychopaths, but because of their experiments, he had few marks on him. Any wounds they inflicted on him healed within five minutes. The only lasting wound was a barely visible scar where one of the Reapers stabbed him when they captured him. The scientists here seemed excited about that, exclaiming that his “healing factor was equivalent to only 50% of Deathstroke’s, but still 30% greater than the other subjects.”

“Three months. Three months of resistance,” said the Reaper trying to break him. Said Reaper approached him and grabbed him roughly by the jaw, forcing Jason to look at him. This Reaper didn’t have his mask on, but his eyes looked lifeless beneath his blonde locks of hair; it was a fate Jason knew he’d face sooner or later, if he couldn’t find a way to escape. Fortunately, he’d been keeping track of  _ everything  _ he had heard and experienced since being brought here and an escape plan for forming, but for now…

“Would it not be easier to give in and join us? You could be the best--the greatest of us--even,” the Reaper promised, flashing a smug grin. Jason made a face as if he was thinking about it.

“Huh, well, when you put it that way,” he started, looking back at the man in front of him. He then spit in the man’s face and said “my answer is fuck you.” The Reaper made a face of mild disgust as he wiped the saliva from his face with a rag, and tossed it to the floor. But his facial expression eased back into one of content as he turned to the table behind him and grabbed a crowbar.

“I suppose I’ll have to teach you some manners while we’re here,” the man said with a sigh, turning back to Jason. “You’ll learn to obey, in time. Nobody can resist us forever. I too, once thought I was invincible.” The man raised the crowbar to strike and Jason braced himself for the blow, but an explosion rocked the entire building. The Reaper halted and dropped the crowbar, then reached for his mask and pulled it on.

“Status report, now! What was that explosion?!” he ordered. He cursed out loud and then raced out of the room. Jason was left to his own devices, wondering what that was himself. But for the first time in months, Grave had made a mistake;  _ they left him alone. _

Jason began to employ some of the escapology he’d learned back when he’d first started training with Kate. It was painful to do, but he dislocated his thumb, with a grunt of pain and pulled his right hand free. He then undid the cuff link on his ankles, and then his right wrist. He ignored the chaos in the background, the footfalls of boots trampling down the hallways and the sirens blaring. He grabbed the crowbar off the table and slipped out of the room. He didn’t know where he was going, but that didn’t matter.

He didn’t get far, however, when a Reaper with a small contingent of Grims came from around the corner.

“We’ve got an escaped prisoner! Grims, capture the test subject!” the Reaper ordered, parting from the Grims to go chase down whatever had caused the explosion. Jason growled and prepared for a fight, but watched in bewilderment as the Reaper who led these lesser assassins was thrown back down the hallway and crumpled against the floor, dead. The Grims turned to see who the attacker was, and it turned out to be none other than--

“Deathstroke!” Jason blurted out. Deathstroke glanced at him briefly before dispatching the attacking Grims. But why would Deathstroke be attacking this place? He didn’t have much time to think before Deathstroke beckoned to him.

“You want out alive? You come with me now. I won’t tell you again. Die here for all I care,” the man called flatly. Right now, Jason didn’t have many options; he didn’t know much about the layout of this compound, and so he reluctantly followed Deathstroke.

“So, what brings you here,” Jason asked, following after the man, but keeping his guard up. As three Grims approached them from another hallway, Deathstroke drew a gun and executed them all.

“Revenge,” Deathstroke replied simply. More Grims attempted to apprehend them from behind, but Jason stood his ground, taking one out with a crowbar to the face, while Deathstroke decapitated another with his sword. The last swung a sword at Jason, but Jason ducked, elbowed him in the gut, then landed an uppercut with his crowbar. Deathstroke landed the killing blow, with a sword to the gut.

There was once a time when Jason would have tried to defend the assassin’s life, would have been angry about Deathstroke executing him. But after months of being  _ tortured  _ here…

“Good riddance,” Jason commented, spitting on the corpse.

“Look kid, I don’t have time for a history lesson, but the long and short of it is, they hired me to train their assassins, but their scientists got greedy,” he said, leading Jason through the compound. “Thought they’d use me as a fucking guinea pig. A “Template” they called it, for their little toy soldiers.”

“Sounds like Grave,” Jason commented.

“Shut the fuck up, kid,” Deathstroke snapped to Jason’s unspoken comment, buried in his reply. Namely, that he had been a fool to work for them in the first place. More Grims started flooding the hallways after them, and someone was giving orders over the intercom.

“Kill Deathstroke on sight! He’ll be just as valuable as a corpse, but  _ do not  _ kill Subject Zero! I repeat,  _ do not  _ kill Subject Zero! I want him alive!”

“Subject?! The name’s Jason Todd you fucks, and you just made the top--” Jason started, slamming one Grim in the face with his crowbar, and roundhouse kicking another “--of my shit list!” Deathstroke grabbed him by the arm and yanked him by the arm and yanked him forward, causing Jason to yelp in surprise. The assassin threw a grenade over his head and exploded the hallway as he made his way for the elevator that took them up to the surface. Jason winced as they exited the small shack as natural sunlight struck his eyes for the first time in months. He looked around and found himself in a desert; literally the middle of nowhere.

But Deathstroke was one step ahead. He styled some command into his gauntlet and not one minute later, a motorcycle came roaring in from the distance. Jason didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, just jumped onto the motorcycle behind Deathstroke, and off they went, disappearing into the distance before Grave could muster a response.

* * *

Later that night, after putting more than a hundred miles between them and Grave, Jason and Slade sat around a campfire, hidden in a small cave in the wall of a cliff face. Neither had spoken to the other since they escaped the compound. Finally, Jason broke the silence.

“Why did you rescue me?”

“I didn’t,” Slade replied, stoking the flames a bit with his sword. “I just wanted to fuck up their day. But when I spotted you in the hallway, I made a split second decision,” he continued, looking up at Jason. He flashed a grin and explained “to take one of their  _ precious  _ experiments from them. Nobody double-crosses me, not without consequence. And  _nobody_ is going to use me in some fucking experiment.”

“So, you’re far from done then, are you?” Jason asked.

“No, not even close. What’s it to you?”

“I’m in,” Jason said, rising to his feet. Slade snorted in response.

“I don’t need a tag along.”

“That wasn’t a request. You’re going to train me, and together we’re going to hit Grave so fucking hard, their grand kids will fucking feel it,” Jason snapped, clenching his fists at his side. Slade’s eyes narrowed at being given an order by some punk kid, and rose to his feet to challenge that “demand”. But Jason didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Think about it; they hired you to train their little _‘_ _ toy soldiers _ _’_ as you so eloquently put it. Now you have one of them, and the opportunity to turn it against them; to hit them back with their own weapon.” Jason explained. Slade was silent for a time, staring at Jason, with Jason staring back. Then, Slade grinned, and started laughing.

“You seem to know me pretty well; petty vengeance is one of my vices, kid. I think I’m starting to like you,” Slade replied, sitting back down beside the campfire. Jason sat down as well, eyes on Slade. The man looked up again, sheathing his sword and grabbing his helmet as he rose to his feet once more.

“Tell you what; I’ll leave a week’s worth of rations. I’m leaving. You survive on your own out here, for the next month and I’ll be back to train you.”

“A month? What the fuck--”

“Call it Wilderness Survival Training. If you can prove you’re worth my time, I’ll train you. When I come back, if you’re not here, I’m going to assume you’re either dead, or you left. Either way, means you aren’t worth the effort.” Jason ground his teeth but remained sitting where he was, watching as slade made his way over to the motorcycle. He grabbed a pack off of it, and threw it to Jason. “As promised, a week’s worth of supplies. See you in a month, kid. Or not.”

Jason grabbed the bag and looked inside to see a few water skins and some military grade rations. When he looked up again, Deathstroke was taking off into the night on his motorcycle. He glared out into the distance, long after Deathstroke was gone from sight, resolve steeled. He was going to see this through, and he was going to strike back at his captors. He was going to  _ make it hurt. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, at the very least you’ve proven you’re not a waste of my time.”  
> “As if that’s _terribly_ valuable,” Jason responded. Slade growled at the young man and took a threatening step toward him.  
> “Here’s a thought; try not being a smart ass little punk for just five minutes.”  
> “It’s part of my charm,” Jason replied without missing a beat. Slade pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh.  
> “You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot, been on a bit of a writing binge today. You guys are gettin' spoiled compared to my output this last year, lmao. Anywho, Jason and Slade arguing and sniping at each other like an old married couple is quickly becoming one of my favorite things. And I hope it does for you too. Enjoy. :)

Jason endured once again, surviving for a month out in the desert on his own. He taught himself some new skills and adapted when he had to. Included in the supplies Deathstroke had given to him was a dagger and some rope, which he used to fashion a spear, by tying it tightly to a sturdy piece of wood. He used it to catch fish and other small animals living in an oasis just a half hour away from where Deathstroke had left him.

It took almost the whole first day to find that oasis; he never wandered too far from his camp and made sure to take mental notes every few minutes about where he’d been, where he was, and where he was going, so he could easily find his way back. It would have been easier if he knew where the hell he even was. Alas, he did not, and there was nothing around to indicate where he might be, and so he made due.

Once he found the oasis though, he felt he could rest a bit easier. The oasis would provide him with a steady supply of food and water. It wasn’t like any of this was new to him though; he grew up on the streets of Gotham, a veritable concrete jungle. Survival was the same, regardless of the environment, and so he was used to scrounging and scavenging. He might’ve grown a bit soft, first living with Kate, then at West Point, but this was like slipping on an old pair of shoes he hadn’t worn in a while.

After just a few days, Jason had set up a routine; every morning and evening, when it was cool, he’d make the trek to the oasis to gather food and water. He marked a trail back and forth from the camp to the oasis with sticks and rocks so he would never lose track of where either was.

Survival proved to be relatively easy once he had set up his routine, but mentally, he wasn’t doing so great, were he honest. His dreams were plagued by nightmares of all the things he’d been subjected to at that Grave compound. He relived much of it in his dreams; the torture, the experiments, the pain, both physical...and mental…

It wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up in the middle of the night in a near-panic. There were a few nights when he didn’t sleep at all. Sometimes, the thought that he’d soon be able to strike back at his captors, was all that kept him going.

But when he wasn’t having nightmares about his captors, he was having nightmares about his father. When he had that one, it was always the same…

_ Jason was fast asleep in his bed, comfortable and secure, safe in the knowledge that he could close his eyes without having to worry about his father. But then, he’d hear the floor creak, the sound of footsteps. And when he sat up in his bed, his father was there, staring at him with eyes devoid of light, with his shotgun in hand. _

_ “I told you...one of these days, I’d solve my two problems,” Willis said, deadpan, and pointed the gun at Jason. _

Jason woke with a start and looked around for any sign of his father; he knew the man was dead, knew he was in the middle of the desert, and yet...Jason sighed and hugged his knees to his chest as he waited for dawn. He glanced over at the rock wall where he’d kept a tally of the days that had passed, and tomorrow, Slade was supposed to return. Though a part of him doubted that.

* * *

Jason was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire cooking a fish for his breakfast when the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon. The sound of a motorcycle caught his attention, but he ignored it for the time being. Once his fish was done, he scooted away from the fire and started chowing down. 

“Well, well, you’re alive. Color me impressed,” Slade said in a condescending tone as he arrived at Jason’s little camp. Jason snorted, swallowing his food before taking another bite.

“Considering your low standards,” he said between mouthfuls, “that wasn’t too difficult of a task to perform.”

“A month out here and you’re still a little smartass,” Slade replied, crossing his arms over his chest. Jason shrugged his shoulders in response.

“I grew up on the streets of Gotham. Same deal, different landscape,” he replied. Slade snorted in response, flashing a smirk.

“Well, at the very least you’ve proven you’re not a waste of my time.”

“As if  _that’s_ terribly valuable,” Jason responded. Slade growled at the young man and took a threatening step toward him.

“Here’s a thought; try not being a smart ass little punk for just five minutes.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Jason replied without missing a beat. Slade pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?” Jason made a ‘hmph’ sound as he finished eating his fish in silence. “What, no back talk? Well it’s a Christmas fuckin’ miracle.” 

Jason threw the stick and the fish bones aside, then brushed himself off and got to his feet.

“So, I passed your little test; are you ready to train me? Or are you just going to sit here and complain all morning?” Slade waved his hand in front of his face.

“Sure, but first, when was the last time you had a bath, kid?”

“You’re fucking joke, right?” Jason asked, voice rising a bit as he threw his arms out. Slade snorted and raised his hands in defense.

“Calm yourself kid, it was a joke. Before anything else, you need a shower. Not that it’ll matter; I’m going to bust your ass until you beg me to die,” Slade said to him, snatching the second fish from the fire. Jason frowned but made no move to stop him. “So yeah, I’ll train you. Lemme eat first and then we’ll get the fuck out of here.”

“Mind telling me where ‘here’ is?” Jason asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Some fucking nowhere desert in Nevada,” Slade replied, taking a seat on a large, flat stone nearby and taking a bite out of the fish. Jason frowned; Nevada. Well, at least he was still in the states, at any rate. He wasn’t sure what else he really expected though. One too many movies, perhaps.

As Slade finished his fish, he tossed away what remained, then got to his feet and headed for his bike. Jason put out the flames and followed the man, who turned to him and tossed him some proper clothes.

“Change. Don’t need anyone getting the wrong idea when we get back to town. Besides, you’re not my type,” Slade said. Jason snorted.

“Now who's being the smart ass?” Jason snapped back, putting on the fresh clothes. They were a little big for him, but considering he’d been wearing what amounted to rags before, he wasn’t going to complain. Once he was properly dressed, he hopped onto the motorcycle behind Slade and together, they took off, out of the desert.

* * *

Jason sighed with relief as he stood in the shower, under the spray of the hot water. The suds of body soap slid down his form as he cleaned months of dirt and grime from his skin, then massaged the crap out of his hair with a generous amount of shampoo. After another 5 minutes, just enjoying the feeling of hot water on his skin, he finally stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel; it felt  _ so damn good  _ to have a shower after months without.

“Let’s go princess, my time is a precious commodity,” Slade ordered, dressed in civilian attire, as he pushed open the bathroom door. Jason blushed crimson and covered himself with the towel, then glared at the man.

“Excuse me, do you  _fucking mind?!_ ” Jason snapped. Slade snorted and turned to leave the bathroom. Jason growled and stormed toward the door, closing it shut so he could get dressed in peace. 

“Hurry your ass up! This isn’t a fucking vacation, we’re here to train!” Slade snapped at him through the door.

“Oh quit bitching old man!” Jason shouted back. He was beginning to wonder if this was even a good idea; they weren’t exactly off to a running start.

But Batman, it seemed, wasn’t the only one with safehouses all over the world. This was one of a few of Slade’s safe houses, located in Nevada. As the “World’s Deadliest Assassin”, he’d probably amassed a veritable fortune hunting down marks. And it seemed Slade sure as hell enjoyed reminding Jason just who owned this place; the creep practically barged into the bathroom while he was still naked.  _ Who did that?! _

But once he’d dressed, currently a pair of faded jeans and a black short-sleeve button up shirt, he made his way out of the bathroom and looked around for Slade. He saw the man enter a door across the living room and followed after him. Beyond the door, he found a gym complete with equipment and various weapons from bows and firearms, to daggers, swords, and polearms. 

Slade stood in the middle of the room cracking his knuckles. He turned to Jason and beckoned him over. Jason obeyed and met Slade in the middle of the room. The minute he did, Slade moved in to attack him, sparing Jason not one moment to prepare himself.

“Before we start any training, I need to see where you’re at,” Slade explained to him, throwing a few different strikes at the young man. Jason grunted as he blocked them; he was a little out of practice, but a little spar like this could help him get back to fighting shape. “Don’t worry, I won’t kick your ass too hard.” 

Jason glared at the man, and moved into a combination attack taught to him by Kate; he hit Slade in the chest with a palm strike, followed up with a spinning backward elbow, then spun around again to deliver a kick to Slade’s head. Taken completely by surprise by the attack, Slade took every blow and hit the mat on his back.

“Good. It’d be a shame if I had to kick yours,” Jason shot back. Slade smirked slightly and got to his feet.

“Good. You’ve got some skill after all,” Slade answered.

“Batwoman, Batman, and Nightwing. Even picked up a thing or two from Alfred, recipes aside,” Jason replied, flashing a smug grin. “And of course, we can’t forget what I picked up at West Point.”

“Kate, Bruce, Wayne, and Dick Grayson. Yeah, I’ve had some run-ins with them before. Explains why Grave wanted you,” Slade answered, stepping closer as he kept his eyes locked onto Jason. “I hope you don’t think your drills at West Point are nearly enough,  _ cadet . _ ”

“If you’re trying to read my body language, don’t bother. Dick taught me Jeet Kune Do,” Jason replied.

“Don’t mean shit to me, kid,” Slade snapped back, lunging in at Jason for an attack. Jason attempted to feint to the right, but Slade was faster, and nailed a punch to Jason’s side, followed up with an elbow to his face, then dropped him with a clothesline. Jason grunted as his back hit the mat and blood dripped down his face from his nose. Slade threw a cloth at him and Jason wiped his nose; it had already healed.

“Don’t get cocky, kid. I may look old, but I’m still in my Prime, and I will be for another 30 years. Arrogance is for fools, not warriors.” Slade held out his hand to help him up, and Jason took it, only for Slade to haul him to his feet and shove him back. “Also, don’t trust anyone. If I’d been a Grave assassin, I’d’ve killed you just then.”

“Fuck you, old man. I don’t need your damn tips, I just need your training,” Jason snapped back, taking up a fighting stance again. Slade chuckled in amusement.

“You got fire, kid. But it’s going to take more than a bit of fire and some martial arts if you wanna be on  _ my _ level. You’ve got my abilities, to a limited degree, at least. That’ll make you somewhat useful, so long as you maximize them.”

“And you’re going to show me how?”

“Yeah. But before we’re through, you’re gonna wish I’d left you back at that compound.” Jason growled in response as his mind flashed back to the place.

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Shut up and fight,” Slade snapped, as the two of them charged in at each other again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade’s training was _very thorough_. Jason was surprised, quite honestly, expecting the man to teach him only what he needed him to know. When asked about it though, Slade’s answer was pretty straight forward.
> 
> “I don’t do things half-assed. Now shut your mouth and get back to work.”

True to his word, Slade busted Jason’s ass in training. Similarly to Kate’s training, he woke him up at four in the morning. Their first bit of business was to go on a long run; 5 miles every morning as a “warm up”. Then they ate breakfast, and headed to the gym for combat training.

In the span of four months, Slade taught Jason several martial arts, including Ninjitsu, Capoeira, Jujitsu, Savate, and a few styles of Kung Fu. Hand-To-Hand combat training was only a drop in the bucket, however; swordsmanship, both one-hand and dual wield, kendo and iaido, eskrima, nunchaku, and bojutsu were also part of his training. He’d been taught how to properly wield  _ every weapon  _ Slade had in his gym. 

By the end of the fifth month, Jason had mastered all of them. As his training progressed, Slade pushed his mind and body to its very limits. When Jason wasn’t busting his ass in combat training, Slade had him hitting the books, studying strategy and tactics, reading the works of Sun Tzu and studying Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan, and Nobunaga Oda.

He’d almost died twice during the course of their training as well, as Slade wanted to “test his body’s abilities.” As it turned out, whatever those Grave scientists had done to him, had worked. His healing factor wasn’t on par with Slade’s, but it was certainly close. 

Acrobatics was one of several things Slade had Jason work on; with his new abilities, Jason was able to push what his body could do even further. His strength, speed, and senses had also been increased, though. Slade had even trained him to master those as well. They’d practice Kendo while blind-folded, and Jason would be drilled for three hours a day. It wasn’t good enough until Jason could fight as well without his sight, as well as he could with it.

Slade’s training was  _ very thorough . _ Jason was surprised, quite honestly, expecting the man to teach him only what he needed him to know. When asked about it though, Slade’s answer was pretty straight forward.

“I don’t do things half-assed. Now shut your mouth and get back to work.”

From four in the morning to eleven at night, Jason’s days were filled almost exclusively with training or “tutoring” for lack of a better word for it. Honestly, Slade hadn’t struck Jason as the type for book learning. Even so, he’d learned  _a lot_ about strategy and tactics just from reading;  _ The Art of War. _ But for Slade, it wasn’t enough to just  _ read  _ it and  _ know  _ it; Jason had to be able to  _ apply it  _ as well.

Through all of this grueling training, Jason had only been permitted a handful of days to rest and relax, and even on  _ those  _ days, Slade was testing him. He might fire a gun at him at random, try to sneak up on him or stab him with a sword; Jason was expected to be prepared  _ at all times . _

After six  _ very long months ,  _ Jason’s training was  _ almost  _ complete. Today was the day; Slade was going to put Jason to the test in a final spar. Jason was looking forward to this, were he honest. He always enjoyed challenging himself, but more so, testing his limits.

Jason and Slade stood in the middle of the gym, across from each other in naught but training pants as they stared each other down. Slade made the first move and closed the distance quickly. Jason kept his arms and legs loose so as not to telegraph any of his moves. He waited for the man to reach him, and as he threw a punch, Jason feinted to the right. Slade adjusted to compensate for his momentum, but Jason’s feint was successful; he stopped and shoved the man’s arm aside, using his momentum against him.

Against a normal opponent, that might have worked, but not against Slade Wilson, a.k.a Deathstroke, a.k.a The Terminator. The man spun around on the spot, swinging a leg at Jason. Jason ducked down and tried to sweep Slade’s other leg out from under him. Slade allowed the move, only to catch himself on his hands and flip backward.

The two of them exchanged blows, feints, and blocks back and forth for the better part of an hour, until they both began to sweat. Neither of them seemed to be willing to give up any ground.

Then Slade came at him, throwing a fist, which Jason caught. He let out a yell as he turned and hauled the other man off of his feet and over his head, but it was all for naught; the man twisted in the air, and landed on his feet, turning the move against Jason and slinging him across the room. As Jason struggled to regain his footing, Slade took advantage and attacked. 

Thinking quickly, Jason went with the flow of battle, and instead of focusing on regaining his balance, he bent over backward to avoid Slade’s strike. As the strike missed and the other man was above him, he thrust a knee upward, into Slade’s stomach. The assassin gasped as the air was knocked out of his lungs, then Jason spun back onto his feet and kicked at the back of Slade’s leg, bringing the assassin to his knees. Jason threw a fist, but stopped just before impact, his fist pressed just against the back of his neck. 

The room had gone silent, save for the sound of panting as the two men tried to catch their breaths. Then, Jason chuckled and uncurled his fist, holding it out to Slade.

“Not bad, kid,” he said, flashing a smirk. He took Jason’s hand, then growled at the teen, quickly rising to his feet and yanking him forward to knee him in the stomach. Jason gasped as the air was driven out of his lungs and stumbled backward on the mat, glaring at Slade. “But not good enough!” he snapped.

“What’re...you talking about?” Jason snapped back, regaining his composure. Slade snarled at him, lip curving into a sneer as he approached the young man before him.

“If I’ve told you once, I’d told you a thousand times;  _ always  _ finish the fight! Mercy will get you killed against a group like Grave!” Slade shouted. “But maybe you lack the killing instinct, eh? The need to do what needs to be done?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you finish it?” Slade asked. “Grave won’t hesitate to kill you; if you want to take them on, you have to be ready to  _ end them. _ I don’t know what the Bats taught you about  _ morality _ , but there’s no place for that shit against a group like Grave!”

“You shut your fucking mouth! There’s a damn good reason for that  _ morality! _ ”

“Yeah, it’s there so they can feel better about themselves at night!”

“Fuck you, that’s not it at all!”

“Get out of my sight. You’re a waste of my time,” Slade snapped.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. I should've left you in that compound.” Jason gritted his teeth, something Slade seemed to pick up on. “Oh, didn’t like that, did you?” he asked, getting up in Jason’s space. He shoved the young man backward and snorted.

“Shut up,” Jason hissed.

“Or what? You ain’t gonna kill me; you don’t have the balls to try. And you know where that’ll get you against Grave?” Slade taunted.

“Shut. Up,” Jason growled.

“It’ll land you right back in one of their cells! You’ll be a guinea pig--”

“Shut up!” Jason ground out, slamming his eyes shut as the memories from his time there began to flood his mind.

“--an  _ experiment _ _!_ Can’t imagine what they did to you, but you’ll be at their mercy--” Slade continued, pressing forward as Jason backed up, hitting a table behind himself.

“Shut up!” Jason shouted, digging his hands in his hair as he began to recall, in vivid detail, the experiments and the torture.

“Poked and prodded, treated as less than human! They’ll carve you up, just to see how you heal, and--”

“I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” Jason roared, reaching back onto the table for a dagger and digging into Slade’s stomach, rage in his eyes as he glared at the man. “I told you to shut up,” Jason hissed in a low, threatening tone. Jason’s eyes softened as he looked down at the dagger and backed off a little.

Slade coughed up a bit of blood, but he was  _ grinning  _ as he pulled the dagger free with a grunt.

“Damn that stings,” he hissed, tossing it aside. “But that’s more like it. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to cross that line,” he said, turning his back on Jason and making his way out of the gym. “Little wound like this won’t kill me, or a Grave Assassin, but it’s a good start. Remember that feeling, when you face down a Reaper,” Slade called back, glancing over his shoulder “and use it.”

Jason took a deep breath to calm down, then sent a glare toward Slade as the man walked away.

“So that’s it then? We’re done?” Jason asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Slade stopped at the doorway and turned, his wound already healed, though his hand was still covered in blood.

“Not quite. Congratulations, you pass. But it doesn’t mean shit until we put it to the test. In the field,” Slade replied. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his legs and arms as he continued “I’ve got intel to gather. You just stay here and do whatever, just don’t break anything.”

“What? You busted my ass for six months, and  _ that’s it? _ I just  _ sit here _ like a good dog and wait?” Jason hissed. Slade chuckled in amusement.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’d think after six months of grueling training, you’d be looking forward to a little reprieve,” Slade answered. Jason snorted in response and waved his hand dismissively.

“What I was  _ looking forward to _ , was cracking some skulls. Not busting my ass only to sit around and wait for you to play spy,” Jason back talked. Slade groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in my ass,” Slade answered. He turned his back on Jason and stood in the doorway for a moment. “I’m being punished, aren’t I?” he asked, looking up to the sky. “I’ll take it all back, if you just get this kid off my ass.”

“Pfft. I don’t think he’s listening. And besides, it’s not going to be that easy to get rid of me anyway,” Jason said to him, arching an eyebrow. Slade turned back to Jason and glared at him.

“Look, it’s simple; I need time to find some fucking targets. Hauling you around with me will be a pain in the ass--” Jason opened his mouth to speak, but Slade held up a hand to interrupt him. “I’m well aware of your capabilities, but I work best alone. Besides, I’ve been babysitting you for six months. I need a fucking break before you give me a god damn aneurysm.” 

“Oh boy, and here I was, worried I wouldn’t learn anything useful,” Jason joked, flashing a smirk. Slade let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“One of these days, kid. One of these days--” 

“Oh wait, I’ve seen this one before. Let me guess, Pow, right in the kisser? Gonna send me to the moon?” Slade grumbled to himself and turned to walk out the door.

“Smart-mouth little--” Jason heard him grumble to himself before it trailed off. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips, but it annoyed him that he was being left behind. He didn’t bust his ass for the last six months just to sit around and twiddle his thumbs!

Still, there wasn’t anything for it. Jason raked a hand through his jet black hair, and then padded out of the gym. He looked around the living room and spotted a bookshelf, packed with books.  _ Well, at least I won't be bored. _

* * *

After three days of gathering intel and tracking down leads, Deathstroke finally had something concrete. According to his intel, which was extracted quite painfully from a Reaper before he could kill himself, Deathstroke learned that a high ranking member of Grave came into possession of “something” incredibly important to the organization.

It wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, but after six months of training Jason, he had an itch for a bit of petty vengeance, and stealing this important “something” from Grave was just petty enough for him. He still needed to find a more tangible target, something he and Jason could hit together as a sort of field test for the kid. If he came back empty handed, he was sure he’d never hear the end of it. For now, however, this would keep him tide over until it was time for the real fun.

To the surprise of no one, this “high ranking member” was located in Hollywood, California. While “Two-Face” was  _literally_ two-faced, Hollywood was the very definition of “Two-faced”. One the surface, it was clean, glamorous and fantastic. But underneath, it was an underbelly of corruption, rot, and filth; in essence, the perfect place to hide a Criminal Organization.

Deathstroke was perched on a tree branch in the woods, not terribly far from his target's home; a luxurious villa, perched upon a hill with a balcony that overlooked the city below. With a pair of binoculars, he kept his eye on the place and spotted a familiar face chatting with his target; Vandal Savage. Hardly surprising, all things considered. Savage had connections all over the world, both known and unknown, famous and infamous, rich and poor, and so on. The man he was talking to, his target, went by the name of Alonzo Ingacio Castillo; born in Almería, Spain, and then moved to the states when he was a child.

Or at least, that was his cover. In truth, he could be anyone and could have come from anywhere, not that it mattered. He was a rising star in the United States and had a large social media following, as well as connections. Certainly someone he could see Vandal Savage associating with openly.

He waited patiently for Savage to leave, then waited a while longer, keeping his eyes on the villa. He watched as Alonzo made his way out through the back of his villa and that was when Deathstroke made his move.

He dropped down onto the balcony where Alonzo and Vandal had just been chatting and snuck into the room, looking for signs of some kind of safe, or lockbox. He saw a rather expensive looking painting and made his way over to it, scoffing at it; tacky as expected. But he moved it aside and found the safe, which proved somewhat challenging to crack, to his surprise. But that confirmed his intel, that this man was in possession of something valuable.

Once he opened the door, he found inside, a rather elegant looking book with a brown leather cover, with gold designs on the surface and elegant black metal designs on the binding around the edge of the book. Without questioning it, he grabbed it and turned to see Alonzo and three Reapers standing there with weapons drawn.

“I thought I smelled a rat,” Alonzo growled, shooting a scathing glare at Deathstroke. “You’re caught. Awfully sloppy of the great Deathstroke. I expected more.”

“Funny, where’s that Spanish Accent you’re so famous for?” Deathstroke taunted, tucking the book under his arm. “You’re operating under the assumption that I  _ didn’t want  _ to get caught.”

Alonzo arched an eyebrow and showed mild surprise at Deathstroke’s comment.

“So you  _ wanted  _ to get caught? I suppose that means you’re finally ready to end your life, too?” Alonzo asked with a smug grin. Deathstroke gave a low laugh in response to the comment; he knew he could easily dispatch both of these “Reapers”, but where would be the fun in that? He wanted to make them watch him walk off with their precious book.

“Nah, I just wanted you to know who fucked up your evening. You tried to fuck me, so I’m just fucking right back,” Deathstroke answered. Alonzo’s lip curled into a sneer.

“You’re fucking with the wrong people. Reapers, get the book. Over his corpse if you must.” As the Reapers approached him, Deathstroke quickly pulled out a lighter and lit it, holding it just inches from the book. Alonzo gasped slightly, and the assassins stopped dead in their tracks.

“You’re going to let me walk out of here, or you’ll watch your precious book burn,” Deathstroke stated, matter-of-factly. Alonzo growled and held up his hand to signal the assassins to stand down. The Reapers obeyed and all of them stepped aside.

“You’re going to pay dearly for this, Slade Wilson,” Alonzo ground out as the assassin strode right past him. “But before you go, at least extend the courtesy of telling me how you knew about this?”

Deathstroke turned slowly to face him.

“Oh, so you know my name. Do you want a gold star,  _ James Allen Davis , _ ” Deathstroke replied, chuckled when he noticed Alonzo flinch at the name. He refused to answer that second question, and with the book tucked safely under his arm, he disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know that look; you’re pissed as hell and you’re itching for a taste of revenge. But patience is a virtue. You’re young, brash, impatient. It’ll get you killed.” Jason was silent for a time, just staring at Slade. That bit of wisdom was...unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few liberties in writing Slade. I like to think that, while Deathstroke is a gigantic bag of dicks, Slade Wilson isn't all bad. At least not 24/7. I mean, he's gotta have a moment here or there where he's not an asshole, right? xD
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

“We’re going to Bludhaven,” Slade said evenly as he walked past the couch where Jason was currently reclined, reading  _ Oliver Twist  _ by Charles Dickens. But Jason’s head snapped up at the mention of Bludhaven. He marked his page and closed the book.

“Wait, Bludhaven? Why?” Jason asked, his heart beating a little faster. Bludhaven was Dick’s city; it seemed an odd place to go, of all the places in the world. But Slade turned and noted the look on his face and smirked.

“Oh, you seem worried about something. Care to share?” he asked, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. Jason quickly regained his composure and snorted derisively.

“No, not really. It’s just odd is all. Now answer my question; Why Bludhaven?” Jason demanded to know. Slade frowned at the young man’s reply and turned to leave without an explanation. Of course, Jason wanted an answer, so he followed after him.

“Because Grave has set their sights on Bludhaven. They’re looking to expand their operations from Gotham. We’re going in to rain on their parade,” Deathstroke answered as he started grabbing some equipment off the walls, tables, and out of the locker.

“Great. Am I going with you this time? Or are you leaving me here again?” Jason asked. Slade glanced at him over his shoulder.

“If I said ‘no’, would that stop you?” he asked. Jason snorted.

“Of course not.” Slade simply nodded and gestured toward the gear.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re coming anyway. This is your field test, and the beginning of my vengeance. They wanna fuck with Deathstroke, Deathstroke is gonna fuck back.” Jason grinned at the idea of finally being able to strike back. But it wasn’t all about vengeance; other people were in the same position as him, he’d seen them, heard their screams. He hadn’t been able to save them, either. No, this was also about putting an end to Grave and their sick, depraved crimes once and for all. But he wasn’t going to deny that he would get a sense of satisfaction in dismantling them, brick by brick, either.

“Just so you know,” Jason started, waiting for the man to give him his attention. When Slade turned, an impatient look on his face, he continued with “I’m not your fucking sidekick. So don’t treat me like one either.”

“Anything else I can get for you, madame? Maybe a--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason interrupted, ignoring the smug grin on Slade’s face. He moved past Slade, but the man grabbed his arm and stopped him; Jason shot him a glare. “Don’t gimme that fuckin’ look. You need gear. Don’t have time to build you a whole new suit, but I’ve got some of my old shit tucked away. You can use that.”

“Great, let’s get it and go.”

“Hold your horses. You don’t wanna be a sidekick, don’t act like one.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Running off half cocked, in a hurry to get some payback? That’s basic sidekick.” Jason rolled his eyes but he knew the man was right. He looked at him and arched an eyebrow as Slade seemed to be sizing him up. “I was about your size when I first started out. That old gear of mine should fit nicely.”

“Great. Where is it?” Jason asked. Slade slipped past him and to a glass case near the back of the room. Inside was a set of standard black Kevlar body armor. Slade gestured toward it.

“This was from before I was Deathstroke. Should fit you. Just from checking you out--”

“Checking me out?”

“Would you shut your mouth for  _ five  _ minutes? As I was saying, it should fit you fine,” he said, taking out the pieces and handing them to Jason. “Now get your gear on and we’ll head out,” he said. Jason nodded and turned to leave, but Slade stopped him.

“I know that look; you’re pissed as hell and you’re itching for a taste of revenge. But patience is a virtue. You’re young, brash, impatient. It’ll get you killed.” Jason was silent for a time, just staring at Slade. That bit of wisdom was... _ unexpected. _ But he remembered back to when he was Lark, Batwoman would sometimes say the same thing. But then she’d always remind him... _ but you’ve got potential. And I’m...proud of you. _

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Jason replied, with a courteous nod of his head.

“What, no back talk?” Slade asked, to which Jason heaved a sigh.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Kid, I don’t have  _ moments .  _ Now go get fuckin’ dressed.”

“God, you’re such an asshole.”

* * *

The duo arrived in Bludhaven in civilian attire to more easily blend into the crowd. Jason knew Dick well enough to know that there would be no way to sneak in, in full gear, without him knowing, and he didn’t want Dick to get hurt. He relayed this information (save for the last part) to Slade, and surprisingly, the man agreed.

“Deathstroke” had an unmistakable look that Dick knew by heart. “Slade Wilson” was less known. Dick knew Deathstroke’s identity as Slade Wilson, and knew what he looked like, but entering the city as a civilian would make it that much harder for him to be tracked.

Slade and Jason set up their base of operations, so to speak, at a safe house that Slade had here, renting it under the alias “Grayson James”. The name made Jason arch an eyebrow for sure, but apparently, Slade had been using the alias long before Dick Grayson was even born. The apartment in question had been rented out under that alias for at least twenty-five years, as well.

But the plan for Bludhaven was simple; recon, gather intel, then crush Grave’s operations in Bludhaven before they could even get it off the ground floor. The goal was to accomplish this without Dick being any the wiser, for if he knew Deathstroke was in town, he’d most definitely try to stop them, without even considering why. Not like Deathstroke hadn’t earned that, truth be told. And Slade was even gracious enough to admit that. 

The first night, however, would be dedicated to studying Nightwing’s patrol route, so they could avoid him entirely. Or at least, Jason’s was. He had volunteered for that job specifically, and allowed Slade to take on the task of tracking Grave. He’d taken Slade’s words to heart, and besides that, he knew he’d get his chance.

When they arrived at the apartment, Slade fished through his pockets for the keys and pushed the door open. Jason had to admit, he was somewhat impressed by the interior; where he’d been expecting something painfully average, it actually had an almost sleek and modern look to it, with a black leather couch behind a white coffee table, with a large 50” Flat screen HDTV and a couple of speakers on the wall. It was part of one large room, including the kitchen, which was separated by the living room carpet, and a bar with three stools as opposed to a kitchen table and chairs.

“Huh,” Jason blurted out. Slade glanced over his shoulder at the 19-year old and gestured toward the interior.

“What, you expecting some crappy little apartment?” Slade asked. Jason nodded truthfully and shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” he replied, dropping his bag beside the couch. “Bathroom and both bedrooms are down the hall. Make yourself at home. But don’t get too relaxed; we’ve--”

“Got work to do, I know,” Jason interrupted, waving his hand dismissively as he made his way down to what he assumed was the guest bedroom. He set his bag down, which consisted of only what he needed (and maybe a book or two), which was basically just some clothes and his gear. 

“You remember the plan?” Slade asked as he stopped by Jason’s door and looked in. Jason looked up from his gear and nodded.

“Yeah, relax, it’ll be fine. I know Dick pretty well, including his habits. I won’t get caught. What about you?” Jason answered. Slade sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Going to hit up the local bars--”

“And get shitfaced, got it,” Jason cut in, flashing a smirk. 

“Gather intel,” Slade corrected. “Seedy bars are always filled with drunks and idiots with loose lips.”

“And there’s a surprising amount of shit you can learn in one. Yeah, Kate taught me that one,” Jason answered, unpacking his gear. He stopped halfway, then looked up at Slade, and added “well...technically speaking. Learned that myself as a kid.”

“What was a kid doing in a damn bar?”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?”

* * *

Decked in the jet black Kevlar gear that Slade had given to him, along with a black domino mask, Jason was perched atop a gargoyle less than a block away from Dick’s apartment. He glanced toward the horizon as the sun began to set, the golden hues giving way to blues and purples. It wasn’t quite night time yet, but he knew how to stay out of sight.

But after waiting for roughly half an hour, he finally saw Dick come around the corner, and then, his heart fell. Walking beside him, was a girl. A girl he recognized. Taking out his binoculars for a closer look, he was surprised to see it was--

“Barbara?” He muttered out loud. Barbara was *walking* beside Dick, as opposed to being in her wheelchair. That was a surprising development to say the least. But seeing them, together and...holding hands…

Jason watched them for a few minutes more, watched as they laughed at the front door to Dick’s apartment building. And then Dick leaned in and kissed her. And Jason’s heart fell again. It hurt, honestly, to see that Dick had moved on and found someone else.

And yet, if he were honest with himself? He knew, deep down, he was glad Dick had, rather than chasing a ghost. That didn’t blunt the pain at all, but it was better than the alternative, he reasoned.

“I see your recon is going well,” he heard Slade’s voice behind him. He didn’t bother to look, but instead, kept watching as Barbara drove away, leaving Dick in front of the building waving goodbye to her. Jason watched then as Dick disappeared inside the building. Part of him wanted nothing more than to go down there and see Dick, to tell him,  _ show him _ that he was alive. Maybe not  _ well ,  _ per se, but alive.

On the other hand, he knew if he did, his resolve might waver. Dick would convince him not to go through with this. But he wanted Grave to  _ pay .  _ He wanted to  _ ruin  _ them. They would pay in  _ blood _ for all the pain and suffering they’ve inflicted, not just to him, but to everyone whose lives they’ve touched.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting drunk in some bar?” Jason asked, pulling himself away from those thoughts before they grew any darker. Slade grunted and crouched down beside him.

“Gathering intel. And was, but the drunks haven’t come out yet, it seems,” Slade replied. Jason just rolled his eyes. “Gonna take a stab here and guess you used to date Grayson?”

“Tch.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What do you want?” Jason asked, exasperated. Slade grinned at the young man, reveling in the fact that  _ he  _ was the one getting under  _ Jason’s skin _ for a change.

“Nothing. Just don’t forget the mission,” Slade reminded him, before retreating from the rooftop.

“I’m not your sidekick. You don’t need to check up on me!” Jason called back. He grumbled to himself as he watched Slade leave him behind, and turned his attention back toward Dick’s apartment building. He glanced out at the horizon again as the sun finally set and night came at last. If he knew Dick as well as he thought he did, and he was sure he did, Nightwing would be making an appearance shortly, and the true work could begin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am not and will never be anyone’s weapon! Especially not yours!” Jason snarled.

Jason spent two nights, instead of the aforementioned one night, keeping an eye on Dick’s routine. He remembered that Dick was a police officer now, and let Slade know it; they both agreed it would be useful to know both Dick Grayson and Nightwing’s patrol routes,  _ just in case .  _

Jason was so tempted to go down and talk to Dick though, to let him know he was alive, at the very least. Slade seemed to pick up on that, but he never commented on it, fortunately. He wasn’t sure he could control his mouth if Slade opened his. Seeing Dick again was nice, but seeing him and Barbara,  _ together … _ well, it put him in kind of a bad mood.

It wasn’t that he  _hated_ seeing them together; on the contrary, they seemed like a good match for each other. It was a complicated feeling, or rather  _ feelings _ plural, that he couldn’t quite put into words. Some things just couldn’t be expressed with words. 

But Jason steeled his resolve and focused on the mission; Grave was going down, and he’d be  _ damned  _ if Grave was going to get one twisted foot in Bludhaven. If he had things his way, they wouldn’t get anywhere else either. But for tonight, their goal was to crush their attempts to infiltrate Bludhaven, for which Jason was ready.

He donned the black Kevlar gear Slade had given him. Kevlar armor was a bit outdated these days, but it was still quite reliable and he’d learned to make due with what he had. If he could have gotten his hands on his old Lark gear...but that felt like it was a lifetime ago; after everything he’d endured, could he  _ ever  _ be Lark again anyway? Even if he wanted to? He always said that one day, he’d make his own identity, like Dick did with Nightwing. His only regret that it hadn’t been on his terms, and not Grave’s. Though, it still could be.

“Are you ready?” Deathstroke asked, standing behind Jason, who was currently perched atop a gargoyle. The two of them had memorized Nightwing’s patrol route, and were thus, on the opposite side of the city from him. Jason turned his gaze from Bludhaven and looked up at Deathstroke, eyes full of both determination and anger.

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for this,” Jason answered. The assassin gave a quick nod.

“Good. Your head seemed elsewhere.”

“I was thinking. It’s of no concern. I’m ready. Let’s do this. What’ve we got?” he asked, standing up to his full height. Deathstroke pulled up a holographic interface from his gauntlet which showed the sewer system beneath Bludhaven. But also running underneath the streets of the haven, as the locals had come to call it, was an abandoned subway line. 

With a little bit of research, they discovered it was abandoned back in 1965. The City Council had voted to approve its own subway system and they’d begun work, having build five miles of it before they stopped all work; after more than a dozen injuries and three deaths, the City Council abandoned the project as being ‘too hazardous’ to continue, and the Bludhaven Subway System thus never came to be. About ten years later, however, they approved plans for the train station that now ran through the city.

Most people had forgotten that the old subway even existed and it only ever had one entrance. That made it a perfect hiding place for Grave, a place nobody would think to look. A place one could only find if they knew where to look.

“We’re right above one of the old maintenance tunnels right now. We can slip down into it through the sewer system, and then make our way, about half a mile, to the station,” Deathstroke said evenly, glancing over at Jason. “According to our intel, Grave has only just begun setting up operations there. They’ll likely have a couple of Reapers, a handful of Grims to guard the place while they set up their new headquarters. Nothing we can’t handle, Ravager.”

Jason cringed at the code name Deathstroke had chosen for him, but it was only temporary, until he could come up with his own. “Ravager” was the code name for Grant Wilson, Slade’s son. Jason had learned that a long time ago when he got curious about some of Kate’s old cases and dug around a little on her computer. It was an odd choice for a code name for him, but Jason wasn’t about to argue about it; it was a trifling thing, and temporary besides.

“Hmph. I was hoping for something a bit more substantial,” he replied, cracking his knuckles as a smirk graced his lips “but I can make due with this for now.”

“Hm. If you weren’t such a smart mouth little punk, I might actually like you, kid,” Deathstroke replied. Jason glanced over at Deathstroke and shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe I’ll grow on you,” he replied. Deathstroke snorted.

“Like mold, perhaps. Let’s go.” Without another word, the two of them dropped down to the street below. Deathstroke moved the manhole cover and descended into the sewer first, with Jason right behind him, replacing the cover before he made his way down. They both activated the night vision in their masks and proceeded down the walkway, doing their best to ignore the smell until they found a maintenance tunnel, about fifty yards down.

Deathstroke was ready to break down the door, but Jason stopped him, stepping between him and the door; he preferred a quieter, more subtle approach, to take their prey unawares. He turned to the door and dug through his utility belt for his lock picking tools and picked the lock. It only took him about fifteen seconds, by which time he pushed the door open, slowly. It likely hadn’t been used in years and thus he didn’t want the rusty hinges screeching like a banshee and giving their presence away.

“After you,” Jason insisted, gesturing to the hallway beyond the door. Deathstroke proceeded through the door without a word, and then Jason followed, carefully and slowly closing the door behind himself. If there were any patrols in the sewer, he didn’t want to give anything away.

As the two men proceeded down the hallway, they passed through a second door, and into a maintenance room, covered in dust and cobwebs, which probably hadn’t seen use since the day the project was abandoned But they could hear the sound of voices; shouting, orders being given, objects clattering, and so on. Deathstroke and Jason shared a look, then Deathstroke opened the door. Jason followed Deathstroke out and into a subway tunnel, where the sounds echoed off the walls. They weren’t far from the station now, and as they drew closer, the voices grew louder.

“Good, we’re making excellent progress. This place looks like a proper headquarters now,” a Reaper said, the room filled with Grims, scientists, and slaves.

The sight of it all my Jason’s blood boil, but before he could say or do anything, Deathstroke drew his blades and marched forth. He easily drew the attention of the Reaper and the Grims, but that was the intent.

“It would seem your reputation precedes you, “terminator”,” the Reaper said derisively, drawing his own weapons. “I did not expect anyone to find us here in Bludhaven so soon. I suppose we underestimated you.”

“Yeah. A common mistake that nobody ever lives to repeat,” Deathstroke shot back.

“You also have something of ours. You’ll tell me where you’ve hidden it before the night is out.”

“Unlikely.”

“We’ll see.”

Jason stepped forward and drew a katana from his hip, and a handgun from his other. The Reaper took notice and scoffed at him.

“Ah, the escaped Subject Zero. Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to your cell soon, and you’ll serve your true masters.” Jason’s grip on his blade tightened and he gritted his teeth.

“There is no ‘Subject Zero’. And I recognize that voice,” Jason commented, lips curving into a grin. “You’re one of the fuckers that tortured me. I told you way back then, that you’d better kill me, or I’d make you pay.” The Reaper remained motionless and silent.

“So I guess you made two mistakes,” Deathstroke said then.

“And what mistakes would those be?”

“You fucked with the wrong assassin. And now I’ve taken your “Subject Zero” and turned him into the weapon you wanted--”

“And you’ve pissed him off,” Jason snarled, gesturing between himself and Deathstroke “--two mistakes I promise you won’t live long enough to regret!” Jason lunged at the Reaper, ignoring the Grims that tried to intercept him. Deathstroke charged in beside him and attacked them.

“You can have this one, but the next Reaper is mine, understood?” Deathstroke asked as he beheaded a grin and shot another in the head as it attempted to attack him from behind. Jason matched blades with the Reaper, when he noticed the scientists trying to escape, leaving the slaves behind to cower in a corner.  _ Fucking cowards. _

“Be a peach and hold on one moment, would you?” Jason asked, kneeing the Reaper in the gut, and then slamming him into a wall. Jason darted off after the scientists, easily catching up and blocking their escape path.

“ _ None  _ of you demented psychopaths gets to live. You don’t  _ deserve  _ to, after the heinous shit you’ve done,” Jason snarled, voice full of venom, ignoring their pleas as he cut them down where they stood. His eyes darted back to the Reaper who charged right at him, firing that Apokalyptian gun at him.

Jason dodge rolled out of the way and returned fire, one bullet grazing the Reaper’s leg, but the Reaper continued toward him, unperturbed. They matched blades again, katana meeting dagger.

“Take off that mask. I want to see the look on your face when I  _ kick your ass _ ,” Jason hissed. The Reaper laughed and attempted to fire his gun at Jason’s stomach, but Jason batted it away, headbutted the Reaper, then landed a solid kick to his stomach, sending him stumbling backward. 

“Take it off yourself, or I’ll rip it off. It makes no difference to me,” Jason declared, twirling his katana a bit as he approached the assassin. The Reaper laughed in response and charged again, and again they matched blades. Jason disarmed him of his gun, then threw his own aside, and the two exchanged blows in a heated battle.

“I want you to know something; I’m going to  _ enjoy this  _ far more than I should,” Jason snarled.

“You could have been the best of us! The Greatest Assassin in the world!” The Reaper explained. But Jason wasn’t listening. As the Reaper threw a fist toward his face, Jason ducked to the side, grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, kneeing him in the stomach, followed by an elbow to the Reaper’s face, and finished with a spinning kick to his gut.

“I  _am not_ and will  _ never _ be  _ anyone’s  _ weapon! Especially not yours!” Jason snarled, blocking a punch, and bringing an elbow down on the man’s arm, breaking it. He reached for the mask and ripped it off, ignoring the pained look on the Reaper’s face. He grabbed the man by his brown hair and yanked him up so they could see eye to eye.

“I know what they did to you, what they did to all of you, and for that, you have my pity,” Jason whispered “but if I have to choose between you--” he continued, landing a blow to his gut and throwing him across the tunnel “and all the innocent people you’ve marked as targets?” He approached the Reaper again, who attacked him with a furious assault. Jason fended him off, the Reaper getting in a few blows before Jason took control of the fight again. As the Reaper attempted to grab him, Jason raised both his arms and shrugged the assassin off, then rained a series of strikes on him.

“Then it’s not much of a choice. You  _ Reapers _ or whatever  _ scary name  _ you want to call yourselves? You’re all going down. I’m going to burn it all down.” Jason reached down to grab the Reaper again, but the Reaper lurched forward and plunged a dagger into his stomach. Jason gasped and looked down at the blade while the Reaper laughed.

And then Jason laughed. A look of confusion spread across the Reaper’s face as Jason yanked the blade free and his wound healed within the span of a minute. Jason began to clap his hands.

“Well, look at that. I guess I got careless. Slade is going to bitch at me for that later,” Jason commented. “But consider that a freebie. It’s the last one you’re going to get.” Jason drew his sword once more, and swung it at the Reaper. The Reaper caught the blade on his gauntlet and attempted to punch Jason in retaliation, but Jason caught his fist with his free hand and headbutted him, before running him through with his katana.

As Jason drew his blade from the Reaper’s corpse, the assassin drew a trigger from his utility belt. With a sneer of disgust, less at the man himself and more at Grave’s tactics, he kicked the trigger out of the man’s hands and stomped on it. When he turned back to the Reaper, the man had tears in his eyes and Jason’s expression softened a bit. He knelt down before the man and leaned in close.

“Tell me,” Jason whispered. The man swallowed hard.

“Please. Set me...free,” the man begged softly, voice barely above a whisper. Jason stared at him in silence for a few moments; that could have been him, had he not escaped from that laboratory. But with a curt nod, Jason granted the man his final request. He got to his feet and retrieved his gun, then knelt before the man again.

“I will. And I promise you, Grave will  _ burn _ ,” Jason whispered to him, before shooting him once in the head. Jason bowed his head for a moment, wiping his katana and sheathing it again before he returned to the station. The Grims were scattered around the station and Deathstroke was working on some computer.

“The Reaper and the scientists are dead. Seems they were only just beginning to set up here,” Jason commented. Deathstroke grunted in response, not bothering to look at Jason. So instead, Jason stepped up beside him and looked at the computer screen.

“It’s a database; names of people in Bludhaven. Wealthy socialites, city officials, anyone of influence. They had plans to either turn them, or replace them. And the children were to be captured and used as new Grims or Reapers, if any of their targets with kids refused to comply.”

Jason scoffed, disgusted. It would have been so easy to destroy it and bring the entire subway down. But Dick needed to know about this, in case Grave made another attempt on Bludhaven. For the moment though, they had another problem; the slaves. Men, women, and a couple of children, huddled in a corner, looking scared.

Jason approached them slowly and knelt before them, a good few feet away so as not to frighten them further. He took off his mask and greeted them with a warm smile.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jason cooed softly. “No one is going to hurt you ever again. You’re safe. I promise.” Jason glanced at Deathstroke out of the corner of his eye as the man gave him a disapproving look, but he ignored him. “I’m going to send someone to come help you. I know you’re scared, but it’ll be okay now.”

The young man rose to his feet and replaced his mask, turning to Deathstroke.

“We done here?” he asked. Deathstroke was silent for a moment, and then handed him a disc.

“We’re done here. Let’s go,” he sad. Jason stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, prompting Deathstroke to glance back at him.

“Wait. We need a copy of this to get to Nightwing,” he said. Deathstroke snorted and waved his hand dismissively.

“We’ve got more important things to do. Forget them. The mission--”

“Can wait five minutes--” Jason interrupted with a commanding voice. Deathstroke sighed and headed off without him. Jason plugged in a USB drive and copied the data. Once that was done, he wiped it all so Grave would be unable to access it again, then left the subway tunnel after him.

* * *

Slade and Jason left Bludhaven that same night, but Jason wanted to keep tabs for just a bit longer. Sure enough, it paid off, because Dick used the intel that he’d snuck into man’s  _ poorly secured  _ apartment, and found the base and the slaves. With it, he helped those people like he predicted the man would. Once he’d gotten that bit of news, he cut all ties with Bludhaven.

For the moment, Slade and Jason were at another of Slade’s safe houses out in Avalon Hill, a suburban neighborhood located in the Bludhaven-Gotham Corridor. Slade had gotten a security warning from his safe house in Nevada; apparently Grave had attacked it, likely in an attempt to reclaim what he had stolen.

“A Crime Bible,” Jason said in awe as he ran his fingers over the cover of it. “Grave is part of the Religion of Crime. These books, these Crime Bibles, are amongst the rarest books in the world. No wonder they’ve been trying so hard to reclaim it,” Jason explained, glancing up at Slade over the table. Slade leaned back in his chair as he chewed a piece of steak, as if waiting for Jason to explain further.

“I’m not one-hundred percent certain, but I’ve read about the Religion of Crime and the Crime Bibles on Kate’s computer. The only person who could verify its authenticity besides Grave or Intergang, would be The Question.” 

“Hm,” was Slade’s only response. Jason smirked at the man as he grabbed his fork and knife and cut into his steak.

“Still, stealing their holy book, that was pretty petty of you,” he chuckled pointing his fork, with a piece of steak on it, at Slade, before taking a bite. Slade grinned at the 19-year-old.

“I told you before, petty vengeance is a vice of mine. But, on to more important matters,” Slade drawled on, leaning back in his chair. As Jason continued to eat his food, he glanced up from his plate at the man and waited for him to continue. “You did well tonight. I think we’re ready to hit them in Gotham.”

Jason looked up from his meal as a grin slowly spread across his face; this was what he had been waiting for.

“But--”

He hated ‘buts’.

“You need proper gear first. So I’ve called in some old favors. You can put the Kevlar away, because I’ve got some proper material on the way. We’ll build you a new suit and prepare you for war. Because if we’re going to hit Grave in Gotham--” Slade started popping a piece of steak into his mouth “--war is what it’s going to be.”

* * *

Slade never liked to be in one place for too long, or so he’d told Jason. There were some very distinctly good reasons for that, the more obvious ones aside. But they stayed in Avalon Hills for the better part of a week as they built Jason’s new suit, having gotten hard to work after the supplies for it arrived.

Slade didn’t know much about “building” armor, but Jason did, so he merely supplied the materials and let Jason have at it. But Jason spent almost the entire week, crafting his armor down to the finest detail, with top-of-the-line military grade technology at his fingertips, courtesy of Slade.

Jason crafted a set of boots, gauntlets, shoulder pads and armor, with a highly resistant, non-reflective metal alloy. It wasn’t promethium because “where’s the fun in that?”. But it was lighter than regular metallic materials, providing him with a level of defense surpassing his old “Lark” suit, but minimizing the impact on his speed and agility so he could still really move when he needed to.

Finally, after a week, it was almost finished. Slade had come down to the basement-turned-workshop to check on Jason’s progress and was surprised to find he was already wearing it. All save for the mask of course.

“Hmm, not bad, looks good. But the color scheme--” Slade started gesturing toward the suit, which was black, red, and dark grey, similar to Grave’s Reapers.

“--is just how I prefer it to be,” Jason replied without turning around, still working on the final piece.

“I see. So, another “fuck you” to Grave then? And people say  _ I’m  _ petty.”

“It’s done,” Jason commented, completing his work on his helmet. He pulled on the helmet and turned around to reveal that the front of it had been designed with a skull aesthetic, again, like Grave, but with a blood red “X” in the center of it. The armor in question had only one shoulder pad, with a matching Red “X” symbol on it, and one on his utility belt which hung low around his waist.

“Call me...Red X.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this, as much as I enjoyed writing it. ^^ Made a little nod to Arkham Knight w/ the Red X suit. Just like how Jason designed the Arkham Knight suit to mock the Batsuit, he designed the Red X suit for mock Grave. >:3
> 
> On a final note, writing a petty vengeful Slade proved to be hella fun. I may have to do that more often, lol.


End file.
